


inflorescence

by when_the_stars_align



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Sad, dirkjake - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 21:40:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20731172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/when_the_stars_align/pseuds/when_the_stars_align
Summary: a mourning brother meets a financially struggling florist.





	1. Chapter 1

you always found it strange how very few words could elicit such an intense emotional reaction from human beings. even as a child, you would watch your classmates cry as their parents waved them off to a day lost to education, while you sat silently, observing. maturity was something in your list of values you held high, even as a fragile child who has just staggered into their first grade. your guardian was quite well-known, so he couldn't take you into school.

it might damage your reputation, he said. you think your reputation was damaged the minute you stepped over the threshold of this place. of course, you'll play the game, be none the wiser while your teachers condemned you in hushed tones and masked it with 'concern for your well-being'. 

you fell once in school. you lost footing and scraped your knee across the cement ground, ripping up at least a few layers of skin. rather than screaming and crying for help (which seemed to be the norm), you became fascinated with the way the blood seeped through the natural cracks in your skin, trying to guide it with your hands. a girl tattled on you by yelping obnoxiously, and your teachers were not impressed.

they threatened to bring your 'parent' figure in, and you blanked for a moment. you mention that, you think they are making a mistake. they made a mistake on the first day by taking away your glasses because it was against policy. bro didn't like that, but he had spares. he said he wishes you were less ill-prepared.

you promised him you won't let him down next time.

• sometime in the future . . . •

you are a senior in high school. god, you can't wait to graduate. walking through the doors of this place everyday is like regurgitating knives but swallowing them again for the safety of others. alright, that wasn't your best analogy, but you're tired. you stayed up all night adding to your robotics project (you finished it weeks ago) before handing it in today.

at least you can be thankful that it's friday. not to be stereotypical, but you're a teenager and really despise school. not because you struggle or anything, far from it actually. call it egotistical, but you always thought you were a bit ahead of the game for this place. but never mind, you'll play nice. 

you sit up abruptly in your bed, rays of light glimpsing through your blinds and onto your bed. you swing your legs around and stand, the sudden motion leaving you lightheaded. you walk into your bathroom and pick up your toothbrush, staring in the mirror while you brush your teeth. your unruly white-blonde hair sticks out in every direction and your oddly coloured eyes mock you with a gaze. you snap your stare away and shower, getting the image out of your head.

you don't know how you're getting to school today. you're always tip-toeing around asking your bro, because he's always so stressed out. you can't blame him, it's hard being media famous. you nearly roll your eyes at your thoughts. yeah, it's cool. he's cool. 

you step out of the shower and pull on a regular looking outfit that won't stick out. your shades and sense of hairstyle do all the talking for you. you grab your bag and step out of your room, promptly shutting your door behind you quietly. you step lightly down the stairs and spot your brother in the kitchen, standing and resting his hands on the counter and a stern gaze out of the window. you stay silent behind him.

there's no way he could have saw or heard you, but he just always knows.   
"dirk."  
he never calls you that. you feel like the room is spinning. what's wrong with you? answer back.  
"i'll be home late. there's food in the fridge and spare cash on your desk."   
you didn't get the chance to respond, he simply turns around and pats you on the shoulder before swiftly walking out the door with his keys, an unreadable expression on his face. you're normally good at reading people, but your bro is a master in the art restraining emotions. you truly learn from the best.

you walk to school.

. . .

during the middle of your chemistry class, one of the school's secretaries interrupt the lesson. "dirk strider, down to the principle's office please." a chorus of whispers reign over the class, and you hear a faint: "i heard he killed a guy once!" you brush it off, simply ignoring everyone and pack up your stuff, making your way down to the office of broken dreams.

. . .

finding it difficult to stop tapping your foot in the wait, you slouch and look out of the office window to distract yourself. it's an odd day. nothing seems amiss, it's warm, as per. but there's something about today that churns your stomach. the principal finally walks into the room, sitting down behind the desk.

you have only spoke to him a handful of times, and generally, he seems like an alright guy. boring, like everyone to you. everyone is just the same, yet a new look, and another fake plastered personality with a smile to go along with it. he seems uncomfortable, as you notice he is picking at loose threads in the cuff of his shirt. 

"alright, mr. strider. i would like to assure you that you are in no form of trouble, so not to worry about that." you knew that.

"unfortunately... i do have some news." your slouched demeanour perks up a bit at that, and you glance up at him through your black tinted shades with a bored look. you see him falter slightly, adjusting his glasses.

"at 1:43pm today, your legal guardian was attacked. he is currently hospitalised, and in fatal condition." he pauses and lets out a breath he was holding. "dirk, your brother may not make it home tonight." 

"..."   
you don't say anything. the room begins to spin. you feel sick. oh god, you're going to vomit. don't embarrass yourself, run. the speed of which you stand up and run to the bathroom in a blur is enough to make your vision whirl. you clammer into the bathroom and the stall door slams and swings back as you kneel on the tile floor and throw up your breakfast. 

. . .

you wipe your mouth with your sleeve, staring in the graffitied mirror. you have sick on your shirt and your glasses are on the floor shattered because you threw them at the wall. the boy staring back at you is weak. too weak to survive without someone to guide him. to train him for life.

you feel pain sting behind your eyes and you grip your hair tight, shouting incomprehensible profanities, raising your fists and connecting them both with the mirror, watching the glass crack and fall into the sink before you.

you are numb as you watch the blood seep and consume your knuckles.


	2. chapter 1

there was a small rustic looking shop on the corner of a relatively busy street. the shop happened to be a florist's, called the secret garden. it had been there for years, owned by a sweet old woman who, ironically, was named Jade Harley. everyone in the small town was aware of her current taking to illness. news got around quick in villages where everyone knew everyone, so the sympathy hung in the atmosphere of the town for the grandson of Mrs. Harley. everyone knew her descendant to be always cheery and holding doors open for people, the type of person to always be happy to help. 

it truly is a shame when they say bad things happen to good people. 

however, the boy didn't let the hardship show. he still smiled, he still held doors, he was still happy to help. only the truly observant could notice the difference in him. he was commended for his efforts for running the shop not only by his grandmother, but by the whole village. people seemed to try and make more of an effort to stop by, even just for a look around. friendly conversation could always be found at secret garden. 

so what might be happening there today, Jake English?

. . .

a brunette-haired male was arranging flowers for the display window in his grandmother's shop, while having a radio playing in the background. he nodded along to the music and hummed while angling the lilies in the best way to attract the eye. he pulled his hands away, admiring his work with an upward tilted lip, his hands now on his hips. yeah, he was definitely getting better at this!  
he mumbled some lyrics to himself while walking behind the cashier's desk, taking out some order placement cards and sitting them on top.

on a monday afternoon with the sun beaming, he couldn't be in a better mood. he tapped his foot and spun around, grabbing another bouquet for the display window.

_"come and get your love!"_  
he sung without shame, before the bell above the entrance to the shop rung out, and he stopped singing abruptly. "my, my, way to interrupt my concert, Mrs. Coone-!" Jake turned around to the door, only to be met with the sight of a tall, blonde male with sharp-edged sunglasses on. he had his hands shoved into the pockets of his black skinny jeans, paused at the doorway of the shop. he seemed to be amused at the whole scenario, while Jake, was not.__

_ _Jake was perplexed not only by the, very striking, appearance of the young man, but the fact he didn't know of him. his cheeks tinted with the colour of rogue embarrassment. _ _

_ _"oh. you're not Mrs. Cooney." he remarked, because this fella didn't look anything like the middle-aged regular customer he saw every Monday. Jake stood quietly for a moment, taking the boy's appearance in. suddenly, life flooded back to him. he quickly got back behind the cashier's desk, plastering on his staff smile. "what can i getcha?" he chirped, resting his hands on the counter._ _

_ _the blonde looked around, light bouncing off of the black shades, then back to Jake. "do you sell..." he looked down to his palm, seemingly for a scribbled down name. "..gladiolus flowers?" he asked, questioning his pronunciation._ _

_ _Jake nearly lost his smile at the _sound_ of the other's voice. calm it English, keep it cool, keep it classy. "sure do! hold on, i'll get you some of them right away." he replied, grin remaining. Jake turned through the door on the left, where he kept flowers safe that weren't on display. he picked up twelve gladioli, varying in shades of purple, orange, pink, red and white. he went back through the door with the bouquet, eyes landing on the boy who was currently scanning the wall flower seeds. you gotta get his number, or a name, or literally anything.___ _

_ _ _ _Jake tied the flowers loosely with a white ribbon, then picking up one of the order cards and a pen. "and what name will this be under? first and last, please." Jake requested, smile remaining to try and not be suspicious. the other turned to face him once more before replying with; "Dirk." then semi-awkwardly adding, "Strider."_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Jake held the pen lid between his teeth as he scribbled down the name before attaching the card to the flowers, making a mental note of the name. "Dirk Strider, huh? that sounds mighty familiar, but i can't quite place it." Jake hummed, crossing his arms._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Dirk didn't reply, only walked up to the counter and picked up the flowers, admiring them in silence._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Jake tried for conversation. "you know, gladiolus flowers are known to represent strength of character. they're gorgeous, aren't they?" Jake commented, staring at the flowers himself, before boring his honey-coloured eyes into the triangular glasses. Dirk looked up._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"mhm. that's why i chose them." he lowered his gloved hand to his side with the flowers. "they're for my brother." he stated, turning his gaze to the other._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"oh? he likes them, does he?" Jake queried, lip tilted slightly because he was finally getting a conversation out of this guy. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Dirk shook his head, "nah. he wasn't a flower guy at all, i just think these ones would have suited him best." he spoke carefully, his glasses being a barrier to all things emotion._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Jake nodded, before changing the subject to suit his curiosity. "say! how come i haven't seen you around before, Mr. Strider?" he questioned, folding his arms on top of the counter and leaning forward onto it. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Dirk shrugged. "i'm not out much. especially not in flower shops." he took out twenty dollars and set it down before turning on his heel and calling over his shoulder: "keep the change."_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _the familiar ringing of the bell signified his exit. Jake didn't even get a chance to call out after him. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _who the hell was that guy?_ _ _ _


End file.
